Preacher: Dana Cassell

Scripture: John 20: 19-31

Last summer, I had the chance to travel to Alaska. My parents invited me to join them, my aunt and uncle and several other retired couples on an Alaskan cruise. They invited my sister, too, but she declined, so I got to bring my good friend Sharon along, which was great, because then she and I got to do some more adventurous excursions that the retirees weren’t super excited about.

One of those activities was kayaking in a lake at the bottom of the Mendenhall glacier in Juneau. We arrived, donned our kayaking apparel and set off with our guide into the water. It was incredible: bald eagles soared overhead, seals swam right beside us and a few sea lions got curious and checked us out. The seals, our guide told us, were very friendly but the sea lions had been known to capsize boats and get pretty aggressive. Who knew?

Sharon and I were in a tandem kayak and we spent the first half of our 2 hour kayak excursion gawking at the amazing scenery and taking as many photos as we could manage. And then…an unexpected storm front popped up over the glacier. Clouds rolled in, fast, and our guide began to corral all of us back toward the shore. The rain started coming down and – worse – the wind picked up quite a bit. Sharon and I turned our boat toward shore and paddled.

We paddled. And paddled. And PADDLED. The rain started coming down in sheets. The wind kept changing direction. We kept our kayak pointed toward shore and made some incremental progress, but it was incredibly slow going. I started to get a little scared that we wouldn’t be able to make it back to shore under our own power, and by this point, everyone else was pretty far away from us. We paddled some more. My arms began to ache. There was nothing else to do other than to keep paddling, in what felt like a futile effort.

I was in the front of the boat, so I couldn’t really see Sharon. “Sharon?” I yelled, “are you okay?!”

And at this point, after a solid half hour of paddling furiously across a glacial lake filled with apparently aggressive sea lions and watching the shoreline continue to be just out of reach, the rain falling in sheets and the wind whipping our faces, Sharon lost it a little:

“NO DANA, I AM NOT OKAY!!!!” 

We were both starting to get a little scared. But there wasn’t anything else to do other than keep paddling.

So we paddled some more. We paddled, and we paddled, and we paddled. I think we both cried a few tears while our arms kept paddling. 

At long last, completely drenched and exhausted, we pulled our kayak back onto the shore and tripped out of the boat and back up the hill. When we did, we learned that two other boats had required emergency rescue – one lost their paddles in the wind and another capsized completely. It was the only time all season the guides needed to use their rescue boat. A tiny bit terrifying, yes, and also, once we were back on shore, dried off and enjoying some smoked salmon dip, we felt a little proud of ourselves for making it to shore on our own in those conditions.

Later, I asked Sharon if she had, at any point in that ordeal actually been scared that we wouldn’t get to shore or that we would be in significant danger, and she said, “oh, no, not really.” I was also worried and scared, but I never really thought that we wouldn’t make it back to shore, or back to our ship. 

And when I reflect on why that was – why I could be exhausted, terrified, worried about the sea lions and demoralized by the seemingly unchanging distance to the shore but not actually worried about whether or not it would all eventually turn out okay – I am convinced that part of the reason is that Sharon was there with me.

Sharon and I have been friends for a long time. We did BVS together and lived in intentional community together, we’ve worked together, traveled together, hiked together, grieved together and laughed together for nearly 20 years. I trust her. I knew that, if nothing else, we were in that scary kayak situation together and even if we had to abandon the boat and swim to shore, we’d make sure each other made it. 

Some of the people on that kayak trip were in boats with strangers, people they’d just met and didn’t know at all. Some were with their kids. If I had been in that situation with a stranger, or with someone I didn’t know as well, or even with a different friend whose strength and perseverance I didn’t trust as much as Sharon’s, I am pretty sure I would have been terrified. Our companions on the journey matter a lot.

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In this morning’s scripture, Jesus’ companions are all together, but they are still completely terrified. Mary has just run to tell them that she has seen the risen Lord, and their response is to shut themselves up in a room together behind a locked door. They are cowering in fear.

And, to be honest, I get that response. Can you imagine how confused and upset the disciples must have been at that point? After the trauma and violence of Jesus’ arrest, his trial, his imprisonment, his crucifixion? Can you imagine the kind of week that they’d just lived through, together? John tells us that they were shut up in the locked room because they were afraid, which is certainly true, but I imagine the disciples must also have just been simply exhausted. Worn out. Without much more to give.

They were tired, and they were scared. The religious leaders, they thought, were sure to be looking for them once they figured out that the guy they tried to murder didn’t actually die. What were they supposed to do, now? Who would protect them? How would they even begin to explain what had just happened to anybody, much less the religious authorities who would probably throw them immediately in jail. 

So they all – except Thomas – gather in one place and lock the doors. And then Jesus just…appears in their midst. The locked doors don’t seem to bother him at all. And he knows that they are scared, because the first thing he says to them is “peace be with you.”

The disciples must have looked unconvinced, still terrified – maybe MORE terrified, now – because Jesus immediately says it a second time: “peace be with you.”

And then, Jesus reminds them that he has already explained to them what they should be doing right now, in this moment. Remember? He asks them. “As the father sent me, so I send you!”

You’ve got work to do, guys, he tells them. None of this barricading yourselves up inside the house. You need to be out there, talking about what has happened, spreading the good news, living lives that are witness to this kind of divine power over every possible power, authority or dominion, even the power of death! You can’t hide here forever, you’ve got to go LIVE this resurrection life.

And then – and this is the moment that I LOVE from this scene – Jesus BREATHES on them.

“Receive the Holy Spirit,” he says.

Can you imagine what that scene looked like? HOW did Jesus breathe the holy spirit on those tired, scared friends of his? Did he just huff out a big breath? Did he blow over their heads like someone trying to cool down a bowl of hot soup? How did he breathe the holy spirit on them?

I imagine it was a surreal moment for the disciples, for Jesus’ friends: having spent the week watching him be defeated by the powers that be, hearing from Mary and the women about him being resurrected, shutting themselves up in fear, not knowing what to do next and THEN, here comes Jesus, appearing in their midst, calming them down, telling them that peace is here, and BREATHING on them.

It feels, to me, like something a parent would do to soothe a trembling toddler. Or how I gather my tiny chihuahua up in my arms and croon to her when she’s upset. Jesus breathing the holy spirit out on his disciples feels like a moment of deep, wide, encompassing comfort.

Which is appropriate, since one of the names we give the Holy Spirit is “Comforter.” She is also know to be a pretty powerful butt-kicker, who moves us into witness and action, which the disciples needed, here. And the Holy Spirit is also called the “companion.” 

Into this moment of deep exhaustion, deep fear, Jesus appears and offers his friends not just comfort, not just catalyzing motivation, but a spiritual companion who will be with them even after he leaves them, again.

The Spirit is the wiliest member of the Trinity, and the one I love the most. She swoops around and through our lives, comforting us, moving us, walking alongside us wherever we find ourselves. She is with us always – that was Jesus’ promise. And the Holy Spirit is both trustworthy and powerful. She is God. 

I wonder, sometimes, how we might choose to live differently if we paid more attention to the Spirit’s constant presence with us. I wonder if She is our companion the way Sharon was mine in that scary kayak moment: a consistent presence that we can trust, that we know will not abandon us, whose strength we’ve experienced and whose persistence we can rely on.

What might we be doing differently if we acknowledged that breath of comfort and companionship we have in the Holy Spirit? Would we be a tiny bit more courageous? Would we take a few more risks? Would we worry less about our own safety and be willing to act more boldly for mercy and justice? What might we be doing instead of locking ourselves behind closed doors, like the disciples did that scary morning? Where might we find ourselves, instead?

I am so curious about this, about that Spirit that got breathed on Jesus’ friends and surrounds us all, even now. I am curious where She will lead us, and whether or not we will be brave enough to follow. Where will we end up if we accept that invitation from Jesus to receive the Holy Spirit?

I suspect it will be a great adventure. I hope I’m brave enough to join in.